If I could sum up the core of my inner child’s needs, like most human beings I expect, it would be as a fragment yearning for a whole. There’s a number of ways to take this, and a number of them are valid I think. Feelings of inadequacy. Feelings of missing something vital. Basic emotional chemical reactions relating to being within a pack species, the instinctual need for fellowship and communion- anxiety in its lack, disguised as the feelings listed above.
Empathy is valued as a treasure for it’s ability to bridge that sense of lack with a sense of togetherness. Another, I’ve found, is sharing roles and rituals. Cooking is one of my favorite ways to feel connected to the species across time and space, and the kitchen is consequentially one of my happiest places.
The radio is an important player. Knowing other people are listening across the county, listening to other people speak to you, to others, to one another- sharing new music together, from somewhere out there, yet somehow together- it all stacks with the rest of the scene. The smell of onions and meat, and the sound of it sizzling in the pan. How many times have the ancestors of your ancestors and a trillion people in between savored just that aroma? How many might be savoring it right now, with their own entire lives, in entirely different adorably decorated kitchens, across the county with the same station on their radio?
The smells. The sounds. The cool colorful vegetables wet from the sink, yielding at a whim to the knife and the hand. A brutal, indulgent, destructive act. The pinnacle of the human experience- creation. I feed my creation more heat. I give it patience to develop on its own. And then there’s no senses left to spend except taste, and by then the meal has become the dessert of the experience.
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